


Pillowtalk

by Flowers_n_Dragons



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Dialogue-Only, Fuckbuddies, Heartbreaking, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV First Person, Pining, Plot Twists, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowers_n_Dragons/pseuds/Flowers_n_Dragons
Summary: There have been thousands of stories about their Firsts. This is the tale of the last time Geralt and Jaskier had sex, as told by the bard himself.Written as a one-sided dialogue. With a little twist/reveal at the end as to whom he was talking to.It's heartbreaking, a tad bit.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Pillowtalk

**Author's Note:**

> This is, frankly, an excuse to write angsty and suffering Jaskier and maybe through art sublimate this existencial dread, anxiety, depression, lack of motivation, self-worth issues etc. that's upon me lately.I wanted to type it up quickly yet it took me five days. For 1000 words. I am not even sure if it's good/in-character /heartbreaking enough 😔😔😔
> 
> It is a one-shot but I am entertaining the idea of writing Geralt's POV which may result in a less depressing ending? Who knows.

You want me to tell the tragic tale that ultimately led me to your bed? Strange that you should care so much about the trigger when you usually are quite content with savoring the fruits of what had transpired. Well, if you insist. 

This tale may also be titled 'the last time I lay with the witcher'. 

I need not say which; for me there has been only one.

The witcher and his barker. That was how many called us. Except I know for a fact I have never been _his_. I was certainly aware of the gossip and speculation behind our backs, whispers of disgust and sometimes, envy. 

He would take me to his bed, yes, that much was true. But that never meant.... 

For me? Oh why I am a delusional bard, thirsty for every meager scrap of affection. Your words, not mine. Sex is one way to get that, or an illusion of it anyways. While my ass is being railed or my throat is being ruined by a thick, hard cock it is easy to imagine that we are floating on the same waves of love, foaming with desire. Even when we are not in the same ocean. 

Oh why are you asking about the start? It is of no consequence. Would you find some distorted satisfaction in him having declared his love falsely just so he could weasel his way into my bed? Promising me the stars with sweet but empty flowery phrases? Oh you probably would. But I must disappoint you; he is not that sort of cruel. 

Well see, he had been saying it was just fucking; fulfilling a need of the body. Never misled me. I'd be the one eagerly replying that was what I needed too. It was not entirely untrue, either. 

So we fucked. Never stopping under three rounds; messy, hot, desperate, brutal, hip-wrecking sex. Once all our lust was spent, we would revert to our usual companionship. At least until the honey drops of need overflew in his loins once again, his gaze turning from stoic to sizzling. He would ask me first, almost apologetically, if I would be amenable; I would consent, of course, skin itching to shed all my silks before he'd even finish his short plea.

I would delude myself with surmising love behind the feverish passion, behind every sloppy, raw kiss during our trysts. I would delude myself that it was true affection that softened the bruising steel of his fingers after the act; I was molten butter under his soothing, cleansing palm. I would delude myself he enjoyed sleeping entangled with me, that it was not just practicality, sharing a narrow bed when coin was tight or body heat when the nights were chilly. 

Every morning after, I would wake up hoping to meet amber eyes, radiant like a May sun, warming bone-deep, never burning.

There would be no one lying next to me. Not once. 

Then the sorceress came along, beautiful, full of power and mystery. 

What do you know, he bound their fates together. Then fucked her. I had to bear witness to it, too. 

Devastated, I accepted my defeat. 

But then, he came back to me. Or rather, left her, I should say. We treaded the Path together again, and my silly heart soared, singing: maybe now....

How wrong I was. 

His eyes, they were sizzling no more, never seeking me, neither my gaze nor my body. 

Still I yearned. 

So on one night, drunk and lovesick, I asked him to fuck me. 

His face remained calm as he agreed. There wasn't a ripple of emotion in his gaze as we took off our clothes. We lay on our sides on those cool sheets, my back to his front; his kiss was colder on my shoulder than the moonlight seeping through the windows of that shoddy inn. His arms held me, but there was no tautness in that shallow grip. He fucked me, yes, entering me after adequate preparation and lubrication, as always, but without that small, salacious sigh I had come to cherish.... 

I think that was the moment I realized this would be our last time.

He made no sound, not even later.... His cock was sliding in and out, in and out, steady and measured as a metronome, his hands stroked my cock, keeping to the rhythm of his thrusts. I was staring at the milky-white blotches and smears on the windowpane, while moaning and gasping in order to fan the fire of my own sluggish desire, every sound ringing false.

His hips and hand sped up after a while, so I moaned faster too, to follow lovemaking's playbook. Oh what a mockery we made out of it! Yet my body was adequately fooled; all it took was a brush of clammy lips against the nape of my neck and I came with his name bouncing out my throat. He followed short at that. I delighted in finally feeling something hot that night; his sticky spend flooding my ass. 

I did not let him clean me up, for I would have loathed to have him touch me again ; my stomach was roiled by the very idea. He looked at me with genuine concern but didn't push the matter. We took care of our respective messes, only the trickle and sloshing of lukewarm water breaking the silence around us, then went to sleep with the grimmest good night we have ever exchanged. The bed was blessedly wide enough so we became two islands, with a strait in between that may as well have been an ocean.

Next morning, everything went back to normal. We never mentioned that night, nor sex, ever again. I kept up my usual facade; he probably suspected my cheerfulness was an act, nevertheless, things remained unaddressed. Then it was time for us to part ways anyways. We have not made any plans for the spring. 

Now, if your perverse curiosity is satisfied, why don't you join me here and fuck me properly... if you are able to, that is. You see, witcher stamina kind of ruined me for everyone... Average. 

Of course it's a challenge, Valdo.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, yell at me in the comments section or leave a kudo if you liked it. 💗


End file.
